


The Cuddle Argument

by RAW_SYNTH3TICA



Series: Of New Fathers [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Asexual Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Best Friends, Comedy, Confused Sherlock, Friendship, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Sherlock Being Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 04:35:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8518696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RAW_SYNTH3TICA/pseuds/RAW_SYNTH3TICA
Summary: A normal day in the normal life of Sherlock & Watson is changed forever at the appearance of one thing: a baby.(Comedy ensues)





	

**Author's Note:**

> ALL IS FICTIONAL & NOT MINE.   
> my first Sherlock/Watson....it's overdue

Without the added weight of stress, life could be quite pleasant in 221B Baker Street, or so John Watson thought as he took a leisurely stroll alongside Sherlock Holmes in the dreariest rainy weather that could be offered – their newest endeavor being the café which had just opened across their flat – Watson had no need of Sherlock's accompaniment nor the statements made during their short walk, but the simple lack of amusement was reason enough that Sherlock invited himself: 

“...-and if they don't strain their tealeaves especially themselves After the import, it might have a more bitter aftertaste than an over-steeped Earl Grey or Orange Pakoe, and the baristas should give a brief and thorough rinse or the flavor will be washed out altogether-” 

“Oh, really?” Watson had long ago lost interest and simply asked out of familiar courtesy rather than personal wonder, hobbling alongside Sherlock's longer strides kept him at arm's length as they approached the soggy outer patio, “What about the simple virtues of plain coffee or espresso?” 

By this time, he knew Sherlock's order by heart: one order of fresh loose-leafed specialty black tea from an unopened packet, must be rinsed prior and patted dry, steeped in twelve ounces of water (preferably distilled, but double-filtered tap is doable) at Just past boiling, and served within a copper teakettle. 

Watson kept his orders simple: daily special (coffee in the mornings up til eleven and decaffeinated tea after eleven at night) with a serving of milk and sugar; a small pastry or finger sandwiches if time and circumstance allowed. 

“Bitter, over-caffinated, neither bodes well with the nicotine patches. It must be why you're always so bloated from the dehydration-” Sherlock answered and gave a quick slap to the umbrella to clear off the condensation whilst Watson followed behind, glum and less than surprised that his flatmate had neither opened the umbrella nor even offered it's protection to him whereas he would have benefited, before stepping through the café's threshold, Sherlock gripped him and nearly toppled him where they both stood in shock, he hissed, “Watson!” 

“What has gotten-?” Watson was soon cut off by the innocent warbling and wide blue eyes of a baby whom was staring up at the pair in wonderment herself, she kicked and squealed with delight in her carrier, Watson could hardly resist the tiny girl's grabby fingers as she tugged and twirled his sleeve. 

“Don't move-” Sherlock said, Watson simply opened his palm to the baby as Sherlock gripped his body tighter against the café's doorway, “I said Don't move!” 

Watson openly frowned at Sherlock's obvious consternation. 

“It can smell your fear,” Sherlock whispered and turned his head aside as if they were in a cage lion-taming. 

“Can't you not please, for the love of sanity and your overblown egotism, Not be yourself in front of-” Watson gave up all false pretenses of self-preservation and knelt at the baby's carrier, he indulged the baby as she curled her tiny fingers within his sleeves, he tilted his head toward the baby and asked almost in the pitiful manner questioning Sherlock's upbringing, “-the child, here?” 

Seeing no sign of the mother, Watson was tempted to unsnap the baby from her safety buckles and carry her around as she squealed and warbled, but he knew all too clearly that Sherlock would most likely yell 'terrorist!' or 'clone attack!' just so that they would both be spared the responsibility of soothing or outright caring for the child – Watson asked from his low vantage to his flatmate whom stood looking out as if he were a father ostrich guarding his eggs from predators, “Were you dropped on your head at some point as a child? Possibly even shot out of a rocket launcher?” 

“Numerous times,” Sherlock answered as if he were decoding his own childhood, Watson left his flatmate to dissect and anticipate what was deemed both 'normal' and 'pleasant' by both child and parent, the added pressure of living alongside Mycroft had certainly made it's mark in the way he watched the calm poise of Sherlock being reduced to a controlled panic, “By choice, my dear Watson, by my own will. 'Why cuddle while being coddled?' I used to wonder.” 

Virtues of tea and scones forgotten altogether, Sherlock leaned down next to Watson, nearly making him jump out of his skin, he asked so pointedly that Watson quirked his head in response, “What is It?” 

Anyone with eyes could understand that, to Watson's annoyance, 'It' being referred as was not an adult, so he answered flatly, “ 'It', Sherlock, is a baby. An 'infant', if you will.” 

Sherlock's lower lip quivered thoughtfully as his eyes narrowed slightly, looking to Watson and then to the child, then back to Watson, clearly annoyed with the insinuation.

“I can See clearly enough for myself that it's a baby,” Sherlock stated, Watson watched as his flatmate swiped a finger across the child's lower lip and pinch the substance, bringing his long fingers up closer to their eyes for a closer joint-examination, “I mean this Thing dripping from it's maw.” 

“Mouth,” Watson reworded whilst Sherlock stood and unblinkingly sucked up the substance, hmm-ing and huh-ing between tongue swipes and cheek-movement. 

“No excessive spittle present. If it is not saliva, then it must be another kind of liquid matter-” Sherlock said between each taste of the seemingly foreign elements, “-sweet, slightly wet, pliable, a granulated meal-like texture not at all an unpleasing combination-” 

“Enjoying the peas and turkey, are we?” came a voice from behind the pair, both turned. 

“Surely,” Watson smiled, he took the woman firmly by the hand and embraced her, “Harry.” 

“John,” she greeted her brother in return, Sherlock noticed how very ordinary she seemed, almost complimentary of her younger brother – he noted her clear blue eyes, her even complexion and a liveliness in her actions and motions as she took hold of the baby girl. 

“So,” Harry began, her blue eyes assessing Sherlock's frame from head to toe, as if she were sizing up the detective's skills merely by appearance, she bounced the child once in her arms and held out her right hand to his own, “This is the famous Sherlock Holmes. I read about you all the time in the papers. Quite the charmer, I see.” 

“Oh?” Sherlock's eyebrows rose, being that his ego was given a slight nod of either approval or appraisal, he clasped her hand and said evenly, “Harriet, or 'Harry'. Congratulations on your second month of sobriety.” 

Harry thumbed the slightest outline of her token resting in her right jean pocket, the denim worn at the lowest corner until the smallest glint of the memento showed through, her jaw dropped but she quickly regained composure, unlike her brother whom fretted and worried for his sister's sake, “Sherlock! Be nice!” 

“How kind of you to notice,” Harry chuckled, she rocked the baby in one arm as she retrieved the token from her pocket, fully showing the memento of her sobriety to the pair, and pocketed the item after a moment, “Really, John, he ought to have 'Flirt' written on his shoulder.” 

Watson, being caught between a congratulatory hug and the usage of 'flirt' to Sherlock causing his brows to crease in confusion, he asked, “Am I missing something here, Harriet?” 

“Just the fact that your boyfriend was protecting your virtue with nerves of steel,” Harry nodded knowingly at Sherlock, her voice colored with admiration and favor, she seemed the most protective of the two Watsons', so Sherlock deduced – she asked warmly, “Why don't we chat about it over tea?” 

Catching a person hovering just steps away, Sherlock glanced back to Harry, he inquired flatly, “I don't suppose the child's surrogate will join, Harriet?” 

Sherlock quickly cross-referenced Harry's classical English genetics with the woman standing afar, whom was of South American ethnicity with her dark hair and hazel eyes, he then took note of the child's black hair and wild curls, which contrasted with her unusually green eyes and medium-pink complexion – figuring that the baby girl was of mixed ancestry and took none of Harry's traits, he figured easily that the woman was the birth-mother of the baby. 

“Keen eye, Detective,” Harry nodded, she then turned as the woman approached, “Consuela? Be a doll and hold our little princess.” 

“There we go, darling,” Consuela took the baby from Harry, cooing in baby-talk before formally introducing herself, “Consuela D'Luca. It's a pleasure-” 

“Aren't we a little too insouciant to exchange hellos?” Sherlock interrupted the friendly exchange between Watson and his new sister-in-law, the two broke their handshake and quick hug. 

Consuela's eyebrows rose, signaling to Sherlock that she recognized him from either his ingenious deduction or his internet-fame, then she asked innocently, “I'm sorry, who are you exactly?” 

All thought vacated Sherlock's mind asking 'Where, o, Where had his fame in all realms of possible earthly communication not reached if not Globally?' 

“Self-soothing now, are we, Sherlock?” Watson let out a breath, he assumed that the jarring change in atmosphere was quite nice, being that they were spared the accidental casualty of his honest and lack of common discretion, he gently took Sherlock's elbow and led his flatmate to a nearby table, the sat the unresponsive body down and took up a cup of tea, “Don't worry, his self-importance will be restored sooner than I'd like. So you and Harry've decided on a baby after...?” 

Both women settled upon their own seats, not minding in the least that Sherlock seemed to be suffering a deflated superbia. 

“Two months,” Harry answered, she pushed a cup of plain dark-roast coffee to Sherlock whom simply picked up a spoon and began evenly stirring counter clockwise, “It's the funniest thing, I've just Got to tell you-” 

Watson listened intently, sipping, laughing, and at times asking questions – his carefree side on display as Sherlock quietly blamed Consuela's lack of knowledge concerning current events on 'faulty communication' and 'technological aloofness, because why not click on that socially-acceptable internet trend?'

**Author's Note:**

> this fic wasn't as witty as i would have first liked it to be, but here it is. the tone is all over the place, but it'll get polished & shined until it's actually funny XP  
> until then, just bear with me


End file.
